


starlight reverie

by emilyseyebrow



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Romantic Gestures, Stargazing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29945256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilyseyebrow/pseuds/emilyseyebrow
Summary: “Dream, it’s five in the morning. What are you doing here?” George asks, expression softening.Dream tugs at George's arm until they're both standing in the dimly lit hallway. He shuts the door quietly, then turns around to look at George again.“Do you trust me?” He asks. The expression on his face is one of mischievous affection, a small grin playing at his lips, and really, how could George say no?or, dream's conclusive guide to grand romantic gestures
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 64





	starlight reverie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alienu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alienu/gifts).



> back at it again with more dnf fluff :thumbsup:

George is woken by the knock on his door. 

Lots of them, actually, audible even through his bedroom door and echoing throughout the apartment. He groans, rolling over and stuffing his face into his pillow, willing whoever is out there to stop. They do, for a moment, but then the persistent knocking resumes.

George slips out of bed, padding through the dark interior of his apartment. He’s groggy from being roused, but he walks with a purpose. Whoever is on the other side of that door would be sorry in a few minutes when they’re met with the rage of a sleep-deprived George. 

He unlocks the door hurriedly, swinging it open with a whoosh of air and half a mind to punch the person immediately after. Instead, he meets the surprised green eyes of his boyfriend, who’s standing with one arm raised from knocking at the door and the other at his side, holding a filled grocery bag. 

“Dream, it’s five in the morning. What are you doing here?” George asks, expression softening. He gestures with a hand for Dream to come inside, who shakes his head and bounces on the balls of his feet lightly. 

“Are you warm enough? Like, your clothes.” 

George stops, glancing down at his pajamas. He looks back at Dream warily. 

“For what?” 

“You’ll see,” Dream says, tugging at George’s arm until they’re both standing in the dimly lit hallway. He shuts the door quietly, then turns around to look at George again. 

“Do you trust me?” Dream asks. The expression on his face is one of mischievous affection, a small grin playing at his lips, and really, how could George say no?

He doesn’t say anything, but Dream understands; he grabs George’s wrist with his free hand and takes off running down the hallway. 

“Wh-  _ Dream! _ ” George sputters, tripping on his own feet as he tries to catch up to the taller man. Dream doesn’t look back, but George feels the smile splitting his face even from behind all the same. Dream tugs him up the stairs almost too fast for George to keep up, leaving him cursing his boyfriend and his long legs. 

By the time they reach the top story, three flights of stairs later, they’re both breathing heavily from the exertion. George rests his hands on his knees when Dream finally lets go of his wrist to try to catch his breath. He looks up at the sound of the door opening, and he’s dragged by the arm unceremoniously into the night air. 

It’s the middle of the Florida summertime, so the breeze is warm, drifting lightly through Dream’s hair and straying a few strands into his eyes. George laughs as Dream blows them out of the way with a carefree smile, gazing around in wonderment. It’s still very early, but the city is awake: the windows of nearby buildings glitter like gold in the midst of the darkness, and if he listens closely, he can hear the light rush of traffic from the streets many stories below. 

The rooftop itself is dim; the moon and the streetlamps cast shadows around every corner, and the only light comes from the buildings nearby and a singular lantern. It’s placed deliberately atop a garden table with two wicker chairs, and Dream guides George towards the display with a gentle tug on his arm. One of the chairs skids gently across the roof as Dream slides it backwards for George, who looks back at Dream with a gaze of open adoration and a smile. 

Dream places his bag on the table as he sits down, offering a sweet smile that reaches all the way up to the corners of his eyes. From the bag, he pulls a thermos, filled with a liquid that is revealed to be lemonade as he pours a cupful into the lid and offers it to George. 

“Cheers,” Dream says, and it’s the first thing that either of them has said in awhile. George clinks the plastic containers together obediently, repeating the sentiment and taking a sip. It’s not entirely cold, and the middle of summer, but he can’t bring himself to care; somehow, the lukewarm drink only enhances the surreal moment. 

A container of strawberries is next to emerge from the bag, freshly washed and brilliantly scarlet. It’s a simple gesture, but Dream had remembered; They’re his favorite fruit, especially in the summertime. George looks up with a fond grin. 

In the warm glow of the singular lantern, Dream’s eyes shine with flecks of tawny and spatters of gold, and George swears that in them he can see the reflection of the stars. He could get lost in them, thinks he already might be; and with the way Dream is looking at him, he wouldn’t be surprised. 

“What’s this all for, then?” George finally asks, and he’s almost afraid that the words will disturb the fragile nature of the moment.

Dream shrugs. “No real reason, I guess,” he says, reaching out for George’s hand and twining it together with his own. 

“You woke me up at five in the morning for ‘no real reason?’” George asks teasingly, taking another sip of his lemonade. 

“I dunno,” Dream says with a soft laugh. He stares at their hands, twisted on the table, with some sort of reverence, and that gesture is enough for George. He squeezes Dream’s hand lightly, and they fall back into the comfortable silence that comes with simply enjoying the other’s company. George yawns a couple times, but it’s more so because of the atmosphere and not the time of night; Dream’s presence is a steady and comforting figure beside him, rubbing his thumb against George’s knuckles rhythmically with a sort of idle reassurance, and he feels safe, and warm, and happy. 

~

Some minutes pass, sitting on the rooftop in the warm Florida breeze, quietly observing the rest of the world and each other. Dream eventually stands up, catching George’s attention. Dream tugs lightly on their hands to get him to stand, too, and as George looks up at him, his eyes gleam with adoration and wonder and awe. 

From his bag, Dream pulls a blanket and lays it out across the concrete floor. He sits down silently, giving George a smile and lightly patting the empty space beside him. George complies, leaning against Dream and resting his head on the other’s shoulder. 

Dream hums contentedly, laying back on the blanket after a few moments. George copies the action, lying on his side with his head on Dream’s chest. 

“Look at the stars,” Dream says, extending a hand loosely towards the sky. Parts of the sky aren’t visible, clouds and smog obscuring it like the patchwork of a quilt. They live in the city, after all, so Dream considers it lucky that they could see the sky at all. 

He points his finger at a dot in the sky, one that’s slightly bigger than the rest. “That’s the North Star,” he says quietly, carding his free hand through George’s hair gently. The other man is quiet for a moment, before Dream hears a quiet scoff. 

“That’s a satellite.” 

Dream stills. 

“Oh. Well, then that one is the North Star,” he says, pointing again at a pinprick of light that’s brighter than the others. 

George exhales through his nose.

“Dream, that’s an airplane. It’s literally moving.” 

Dream closes his eyes and sighs. George shifts at his side, and he opens his eyes to see his boyfriend propped up on his elbow and staring down at him with a fond grin. 

“You’re really bad at this,” George teases, and Dream rolls his eyes. 

“Can we go back inside?” He asks. George’s laugh is like the tinkling of bells, and Dream thinks that it just might be the loveliest sound he’s ever heard. 

George sits up, tucking his feet beneath himself. Dream follows suit. He turns to face his boyfriend again, who’s looking at him with a quiet smile. 

George takes his hands again, resting their foreheads together so that Dream can even catch a glimpse of the pale freckles on George’s cheeks if he looks closely enough. 

“I love you,” George whispers, leaning to press his lips to Dream’s. The kiss is lingering and gentle and it makes his heart soar, and his words cause a tightening in Dream’s chest that stems from infatuation and doting affection. 

  
The kiss tastes like the tang of lemonade with a burst of sweet strawberry, and it’s familiar and it’s warm and it’s perfect. 

As he pulls back, Dream feels the ghost of air on his lips as George exhales lightly. His eyes are closed, lashes stark against his pale cheeks, and when he opens them again he offers Dream a shy smile. 

“I love you, too,” Dream says with a grin, kissing George’s forehead and then leaning it against his own again, close enough that their noses bump together. George’s cheeks are dusted with pink, visible even in the low light of the rooftop in the early morning. 

  
They sit there for a while longer, breaths mingling and hands intertwined under the blanket of a starlit sky. It’s quiet, for the most part, if you don’t count the rustle of the wind and the distant noise of traffic; the soft moment isn’t exactly what Dream had intended to become of the evening, but it’s still wonderful and beautiful and lovely. 

_ George  _ is wonderful and beautiful and lovely, he thinks, and maybe the quiet between them is reverent because of that. 

As the sun rises on the dawn of a new day, bathing the rooftop and the city in a soft golden glow, Dream finds that counting George’s freckles is infinitely better than counting stars. Not just because his freckles are closer and clearer and far more consistent, but because George shines brighter than the stars ever could, anyway. 

**Author's Note:**

> sighs. them. 
> 
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/emilyseyebrow) im super active there and i write dnf :thumbsup: 
> 
> also follow [ali](https://twitter.com/Alienu_) because they gave me the idea/dialogue prompt for this fic and are the coolest writer ever :] 
> 
> comments n kudos are very much appreciated, tysm for reading ily /p <3


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